


Silent Spring

by hellaradholly



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Multi, x-over
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:24:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellaradholly/pseuds/hellaradholly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hetalia/Sherlock X-over. No implied pairings except Johnlock. Johnlock is always implied. John and Sherlock find a blond American teenager who can't remember everything but there seems to be something strange about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John Watson enjoyed taking walks. They allowed him to think and get away from his flat mate who was currently preoccupying himself with ranting about anything and everything to stave off his boredom. It's not that he didn't like Sherlock but the man could become completely unbearable when he didn't have anything to keep him distracted. It had been a week since their last case was concluded and the man was beginning to drive him mad.

As John walked on he stumbled and found himself faced with a limp body crumpled on the ground. His instincts as a doctor kicking in, he immediately checked for a pulse and was dismayed to discover that there was none. The body turned out to be that of a young man, barely even in his twenties, with blond hair now caked with partially dried blood. Now he knows he should have probably called the police but against his better judgement he called Sherlock who picked up quite quickly.

"What is it John? It better be interesting." said the thoroughly agitated man upon picking up.

"Well, it's a body. Quite young too." John answered, feeling a pang of pity for the young soul.

"Really now? Unnatural death too? Where are you?"

"I was taking a walk. I'm near the park and the body is off to the side away from the path." As John gave his flat mate the directions he noticed movement from near the body. He turned and even though he knew Sherlock was rambling the words were blocked out by a sudden realization.

The body was breathing.

When he finally got over his shock he could hear Sherlock trying to get his attention through the phone. "S-sorry... We may not have a body after all..."

"I'll be there soon." With that said there was a click as his partner hung-up.

Around ten minutes later the awaited for consultant detective arrived and looked at the young man on the ground. "He's breathing."

"I noticed that." John replied. "When I found him he was cold to the touch and had no pulse but now he's breathing and has a fairly normal body temperature."

Sherlock walked closer to the not-actually-a-corpse taking in various details. "Young. Probably nineteen or twenty but the suit suggests otherwise. Fancy but well-worn and obviously used on a regular basis. Threadbare around the coughs indicated that he has to sit for long amounts of time but does not enjoy staying still. The degree of the wear is equal on both cuffs so it would seem that he is ambidextrous. His calloused hands show signs of lifelong manual labor." As the detective moved to check the pockets of the young man for any identification there was a flash of movement and the steel barrel of a gun pressed to his temple.

"Thirty-two caliber, American made, steady grip... You seem quite used to using guns." There was fear apparent in the young man's blue eyes as he lowered the gun and cast his gaze away. "Expecting someone else?"

"S-sorry..." The young mans American accent was clear despite the softness of his voice and his body language showed confusion. "Where am I...?"

"Where the bloody hell is that annoying sod?!" Arthur grumbled as he paced in Mycroft's office. "I've been waiting for two hours and he still hasn't shown up!"

Mycroft sighed and rubbed his head to ease his slowly developing headache, courtesy of the green-eyed man's yelling. "It's not exactly strange for him to be late Arthur..."

"It's disrespectful is what it is! He's been late but this is unacceptable and he's not even answering his damned phone!"

"Please calm down. He might have fallen asleep. We both know he hates flying if he's not the pilot and gets very distraught."

"He could have called. That ungrateful little bastard." Arthur continued to grumble.

"Please, just go home and relax. I'm sure he will turn up tomorrow and if not we can find him."

"Fine." Arthur said as he gathered up his supplies and left the building, still mumbling under his breath about "stupid American"s and "annoying git"s.

The night sky was spotted with clouds that blocked out the few stars that could be seen due to the lights of the city. Shadows made by the street lamps stretched along the path as he walked onward, through the streets of London. He knew Mycroft had a point but he wasn't going to let Alfred just show up whenever he fancied. It was disrespectful and he had raised him better than that.

However, there was also a small persistent knot of worry nagging at him. He did raise America better than that and if he didn't show up tomorrow there was probably more to it than just the teen's usual forgetfulness. He was obnoxious and ridiculous at times but he wasn't insincere. It just wasn't in his nature to be spiteful towards people.

Upon arriving home, England sunk into his chair with a book and hoped to read his worries away. Hoped that everything was alright and he would be interrupted by a happy-go-lucky blond. Hoped that he was just overreacting.

Wishes don't come true though.


	2. Chapter 2

"So," Sherlock continued his rant from earlier now that they were back inside of 221B Baker Street, "you have no idea who you are or why you are here and you were dead for what was probably around an hour. But now we know who you are because the ID in the wallet had your picture and was obviously American like your accent. You are very interesting."

"Uh... What exactly is going on?" The blond, identified as Alfred F. Jones, asked.

"Don't worry, Sherlock is just a bit strange. He's trying to figure out who you are and why you were attacked." John explained.

"Not completely true. If it were a normal person I wouldn't care but you do not seem normal so I do have some interest in you. So, if you wouldn't mind, take off your clothes. Actually, take them off if you do mind."

Of course, Alfred reacted as any person would and gave Sherlock a confused look. "My clothes...?"

"Don't give me that. You can keep on your trousers, I'm only interested in the suit."

"Oh, okay then." Alfred began to take of his suit's jacket and eventually his shirt revealing a well built, tanned body with various scars. This immediately caught the attention of both John and Sherlock who looked on at the various white marks across the otherwise unblemished skin.

"Quite the record on your skin..." John commented as he tried to find the reasons for each of the scars. "Most of them seem fairly old too."

"Here." Sherlock said, pulling a veteran ID out of the wallet. "Alfred Franklin Jones, 19 year of age, Air Force. Still doesn't explain why you were wearing business attire. Especially with the way you can't seem to hold still." Said American was fidgeting in his seat as John cleaned the blood from his head. "You obviously wear the suit very often but don't enjoy wearing it and I don't blame you. And now there are the scars. You could of only been in the military for a year or so but the scars are older than that and many of them seem to be battle wounds."

"Sherlock," John said as he finished cleaning away the blood, "you may want to have a look at this."

"What is it?" Sherlock demanded as he strode over to see what his colleague was insisting. "Oh..."

"Yes, oh. There's no wound here any more. How can that be possible? It was there when I found him."

"And there's also the suit..."

"What about the suit Sherlock?"

"It was raining before you found our American guest her. However, the suit is only partially wet. The sleeves, the sides, and the back are dry but the center of the torso is wet which means he was wearing a jacket. Now where is the jacket?"

Arthur was working in his house when he received the package. The brown box was inconspicuous enough with the typical labels only lacking a return address. The contents were far from normal though. Once he had opened the box Arthur had to keep himself from letting out a sob.

Inside was Alfred's leather bomber jacket, now splattered with dried blood, and beside it was a piece of paper with a short printed note. "WHERE OH WHERE IS MR. JONES?" Was the taunting message that made Arthur's blood run cold. He felt sick and grasped at the wall beside him to keep from falling.

After his shock wore off he marched into Mycroft's office and threw down the offending package onto his desk. "What the bloody hell is this?!"

"Please calm down Mr. Kirkland-" Mycroft began before he was cut off.

"Don't give me that! What is this?!"

"It's Moriarty. A recent adversary to my brother and I."

"What has he done to Alfred?"

"I do not know. Judging from the contents of the message I would say that he was taken and the jacket is probably an add on to the jest."

At this Arthur swore and slammed his hands down on the desk. "How can he be holding a superpower, especially someone like Alfred, captive?!"

"I do not know. I am starting to feel like a skipping disk."

"Well, why don't you do something about it!"

"I am far too busy to deal with such matters. Why don't you pester my brother about it? He enjoys things such as this."

Meanwhile, at 221B Baker Street, Alfred was sitting in the bathroom as the hair dye set. "Why are we doing this again?"

"Someone tried to kill you from what we've been able to tell you are very important to some very important people. So, to make things more interesting we're going to change the way you look. They're looking for a blond so now you're going to have dark hair." Sherlock explained.

"It's just a precaution." John added. He knew his flatmate was not the most reassuring person.

"Oh. Okay." The veteran also couldn't help but notice how accepting the American seemed of everything they told him.

"Are you alright?"

"Um. Yeah. I think so... It's just a bit overwhelming, ya know? All I remember is waking up in the wet and cold. Next thing I know I'm holding a gun to your friend's head... It's just crazy..." He trailed off.

"I can understand the confusion."

"Can you? I don't even know who I am. Not really. There is so much in my head but I don't know where any of it came from. I can tell you all about astrophysics and economic science but I don't know why. I don't know a thing about my personal life. Not even my favorite color. Hell, blue looks nice but I don't know why I think that." Alfred paused for a moment and took a ragged breath, his expression reminded John of the many young soldiers who realized that the battle wasn't worth it. "I'm lost John..."

As Alfred looked away John was surprised to hear a strangled sob but then he realized he shouldn't be surprised. Alfred was only a teenager after all. "I promise you Alfred, Sherlock and I will do what we can to help you."

"Thanks." Alfred replied as he wiped he's eyes and calmed his breathing. "I appreciate it."

"Of course. Just don't be intimidated by Sherlock. He's a bit hard to understand but he means well. Most of the time." John explained before standing. "Well, I believe you have let the dye set long enough. Go ahead and take a shower, there are new clothes for you on the shelf."

After leaving the bathroom, John walked into the living room to find Sherlock messing with his laptop. Not like that was anything new. "I take it our guest is washing up." Sherlock stated more than asked.

"Why are you tampering with my stuff again?" John asked. This common occurrence was annoying after the first time much less the fiftieth time.

"Because, my stuff is too hard to get to and they can't trace it back to me if I use yours."

"I swear Sherlock, if you get me arrested again I will shoot you."

"Sure sure. I'm not very concerned."

"But I am."

"Yes, but you're an idiot."

"That's what they told Albert Einstein." Alfred stated as he walked towards the living room, his hair now a brownish black color. "And now he is known in history for his groundbreaking discoveries in the world of physics."

"You look different. It would seem that our goal was achieved and the clothes fit you. Well, the longer you remain undiscovered gives me more time to figure out everything."

"Cool. So what should I do?"

"That depends. What can you do?"


	3. Chapter 3

"My question," John began, "is what you are doing with my computer, Sherlock."

"Trying to find information on our guest. Unfortunately, whether it be your name or an alias, Alfred Jones is a very common name." Sherlock answered.

"Alfred F. Jones." Was the comment. However, it was ignored.

"We can use the normalcy of your name to our advantage though." After giving the teenage blond a look he continued, "We'll have to get rid of those glasses too. Get you contacts."

"Thanks?" Alfred replied awkwardly. How was he supposed to respond to a comment like that?

Before they could come to a decision on their next move, a decisive knock came at the door. After ushering the American into John's room they allowed their new guest in, who happened to be a blond man with a perpetual scowl on his face and jade eyes.

"Sherlock lives here, correct?"

"Yes. That would be me." Sherlock said as he analyzed the man before him. For one, he was obviously a government official which would mean he was sent by Mycroft but there was obvious signs of other things. He gave off strange signals quite similar to a particular Alfred F. Jones.

"I'm Arthur Kirkland and-"

"You lost someone. Again. And quite recently too it would seem. The same person? I would assume so. And if you are seeking my help then you must be personally attached to this individual."

"Belt up. I didn't come to have my life story reiterated at me. Your brother is being lazy per usual and pointed me in your direction." Arthur scowled at the detective with his arms crossed. "So if we could get on with it then let's."

"So, I presume you want me to find this missing person?" Sherlock said, prepared for a boring story like his usual clients would ramble off.

"No. I want to find the person that might have killed them. I am aware of the fact that you are acquainted with Jim Moriarty." Arthur stated, his tone firm and even.

"That I am. And you are sure this person is dead?" Sherlock analyzed the guest silently. There was obviously something he was hiding but he couldn't place his finger on it at the moment.

"That's not important. It is important, however, that I find out why he was targeted and possibly murdered." He was a father too. That much was obvious. Owns one cat, does needlework, plays bass, accustomed to manual labor, proud Englishman, well traveled, but that was all on the surface. There was something he was missing. Something deeper.

"People are murdered all the time. What is particularly important about this murder?" Sherlock asked. Maybe he would be able to get more information if he prodded the right areas.

"He was my closest friend."

"I'm sure..." Sherlock responded. Obviously this person was more than a close friend. Perhaps a friend with benefits or maybe even a lover.

"Just do your bloody job and find me his killer." Arthur said. "Just notify your brother when you wish for me to return. Hopefully he will deign it important enough to tell me."

"Good day Mr. Kirkland. We will meet again." Sherlock said his farewell as the Briton left the flat and John ushered Alfred back to my living room. "Someone is quite interested in you. I would prefer to figure out your predicament myself before getting involved in any outside interference though."

"Shouldn't you let that Kirkland fellow know, if they are close? That would give Alfred a better chance of regaining his memory." John commented.

"Possibly. I would prefer to know all the facts before I give up my largest lead in the event that there is more to this then Kirkland is telling us." Sherlock explained. He intended on finding on finding out exactly what was going and he knew the perfect place to start.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

Jim Moriarty always enjoyed the success of a good murder. It was a quick, easy way to stave of his boredom for a moment longer and if it just so happened to cause problems for the Holmes boys then all the better. However, his latest murder had been unexpectedly derailed when the victim had turned out to still be alive.

Normally, if he heard that his murder attempt had been unsuccessful he would just have the person shot and cut off any loose ends but this circumstance called for a very different solution. He had been payed a handsome sum to dispatch a certain young American and it had been taken care of beautifully if he didn't say so himself. One sniper, one bullet to the head, one American corpse in a pool of blood, one less person walking on the planet, one less moment of boredom.

But now the "dead' American was up and walking around.

He wasn't sure whether he should be angry or upset so he just settled on excited. Finally! Another person he could use to stave off his boredom! However, young Alfred F. Jones was found by none other than Dr. John Watson and was now taking up residency at 221B Baker Street. If Moriarty wanted to find an effective solution to his boredom then he would have to get Jones away from the Virgin and into his own hands.

After all, it wasn't every day that one had the opportunity to get their hands on someone who had just come back from the dead, and with no memory. That was almost like a bonus. Now his main concern was on how to go about this particular endeavor and preferably in a way that would let him snatch the American right from under Sherlock's nose.

There were various ways he could go about this: bribing a police officer for when they visited DI Lestrade (which they would), disappearance in a crowd, poison and taking the body, just a good old kidnapping, so many choices! And he was looking forward to finding out whatever was making Jones tick.


	4. Chapter 4

"Where are we going?" Alfred asked as he followed John and Sherlock through the busy streets of London.

"Nowhere, anywhere, wherever. I'm not very particular about the details." The consultant detective responded, his coat billowing behind him in a strangely regal manner.

"Nowhere looks a lot like the middle of London." He quipped as they strode through the winding streets.

"Hush the two of you." John intervened. He was almost positive that Alfred was some sort of adolescent genius but the fact that he was military and a target for murder contradicted that. Unless he was military intelligence and was murdered for it. Either way, one high-functioning sociopath was enough for him.

"Sorry." Alfred replied sheepishly as Sherlock just ignored both of them and continued on his way.

"The two of you are more trouble than you are worth at times." John muttered, winding through the damp streets of London with the various buildings stretching toward the sky. As they came upon the New Scotland Yard building. John could only hope that Lestrade had some forewarning at what was coming his way.

John considered Lestrade to be pleasant overall and it helped that he was one of the few that did not hate Sherlock or think he was a complete psychopath. However, he did not agree with his flatmate's belief that this lack of animosity meant they could charge into the Detective Inspector's office whenever they pleased.

"Hello Detective Inspector." Sherlock said. "I require your assistance with a case I'm working on."

"Some personal case I assume? Who's the kid behind you?" Greg asked as he noticed the presence of a third person.

"A client of sorts. Now, can you give me everything you have on an Alfred Franklin Jones? He would be an American."

"Let me see what I can do." He answered as he typed the name into the computer and began looking through the results. "It seems there was an American soldier over here during World War II by the name of Alfred F. Jones. I also have a more recent file for an American by that name but most of it seems to be classified. Something to do with a higher part of the government though."

"Perhaps we should pay Mycroft a visit then?" Sherlock asked with a slight smirk as he turned, only for it to be replaced with a frown when he saw the absence of a certain American.

\----------------------------------------------------------

Mycroft Holmes grimaced as his brother burst into his office followed, of course, by John Watson. His brother could at least have the courtesy to call and announce that he would be visiting. Arthur Kirkland wasn't making his job any easier at the moment and if Sherlock was here it could only mean that he was about to experience another migraine. "Would you like to explain why you are interrupting me? I happen to be terribly busy at the moment."

"Who exactly is Alfred Jones, Mycroft? There's something strange about him and Arthur Kirkland." Sherlock said as he looked at his brother analytically. "You seem prematurely distraught. I only just arrived."

"Bloody frog! I'll murder that bastard!" Arthur Kirkland yelled from down the hallway as he stormed towards his office and slammed the door loudly.

"That is why I'm distraught." Mycroft answered. "And what is this you're raving about?"

"Alfred Jones. He's not normal. Tell me what's important about him."

"You really are getting into things that are out of your depth dear little brother." Mycroft drawled with a strange smile. "Why is it important?"

"Because he was just taken when we were in Lestrade's office."

"You had him with you the whole time?"

"Well, yes. Until he was taken."

"By whom?" Mycroft asked beginning to feel irritated.

"I believe it was whoever shot him the first place." John suggested. "When I found him he appeared to be dead from a bullet wound to the side of his head."

"Seems to be the most probable answer." Sherlock agreed.

"Really?" John asked, a bit astonished at the consultant detective agreeing with him.

"Yes yes. Even simple minds have the fortunate happenstance of being correct on occasion."

"Is it possible for you to not be an ass at the moment?" John retorted as the door was thrown open by Arthur Kirkland.

"Bloody hell. What are you two doing here?" The new arrival asked as John noticed dark circles under his eyes and the lingering smell of alcohol.

"I'm just visiting my dear brother of course. We seldom see each other after all." Sherlock answered with the ghost of a smile adorning his lips.

"Liar." Arthur scoffed as he poured himself some tea. "You and your brother are not as skilled at acting as you believe yourselves to be. Now out with the truth. I have a massive hangover, cold tea, a rampant Frenchman, and a scarily distressed Canadian."

"What Mr. Kirkland-" "Sir Kirkland to you-" "What Sir Kirkland means to say is that right now is a stressful time and that there are many matters that do not concern you."

"You certainly censored my rant from earlier." Arthur quipped.

"And how early was that?" Sherlock asked.

"About three hours and two drinks ago." A smirk crept onto Arthur's face that greatly discomforted the three others in the office.

"He used some colorful language." Mycroft commented as his eyes strayed to the documents on his desk.

"I am going to be quite frank with the lot of you." Arthur said, mainly addressing the detective and the veteran. "My highest priority is to find Alfred Jones which means that it is now your highest priority. From this point until we find my associate, I own you. It would be in your best interest to not disappoint."

John gaped at Arthur. Had the British diplomat just threatened them? Could he even do that? And then there was the matter of Mycroft looking uncomfortable but unwilling to speak against anything that had just been said while Sherlock was staring intently at unwavering acidic eyes that easily returned the favor. "Well then?" Arthur said as he stood. "We have work to do. Wasting time is unacceptable."

"So much trouble for one person. I would like to know what exactly makes this person important." Sherlock pressed as they followed Arthur.

"He's an American diplomat. There's the possibility that he had important files. We need to retrieve him and those files if possible."

"Where do we start then?"

"Are both of you armed?"

"No. we-"

"I am." John interrupted.

"It would seem your partner has a better handle on this situation then even you do, Mr. Holmes." Arthur commented as he retrieved a handgun from within his suit and gave it to the detective. "This is not child's play. We shoot first and ask questions later."

"So it would seem." Sherlock said as he put the gun in his waistband. The games had just begun.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter takes a dark turn and I just wanted to have a warning because there are descriptions of torture in this chapter though nothing extremely graphic.

Alfred Jones let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as he sat on the park bench, damp from the morning's rain. He ran back to this place where had woken up in hopes of recovering the more than the shattered fragments of memory than what would flash by before crumpling within his minds. His memories were a house of cards that continued to collapse as he painstakingly built. Them overwhelming frustration nearly drove him to violent outbursts, although he wasn't a violent person. At least he hoped he wasn't. However, his current state made it impossible to know anything for sure.

Rain began to fall sporadically as the clouds once again thickened for their continued onslaught against the small island nation and its inhabitants but Alfred remained in his seat. The rain droplets that beat rhythmically upon his form brought an aura of despair with them and even some nostalgia. Flashes of clattering weapons and endless battlefields taunted him before fading to smoke in his eyes.

"Isn't the weather just peachy?" A cheery voice said as the owner sat on the bench beside him. The man was wearing a black suit and tie with his dark hair parted to the side and slicked back despite the rain. His face was handsome with an angular quality to it and although a smile quirked his lips his dark eyes seemed dull and flat.

"Not the word I would use. Rain isn't typically associated with happiness." Alfred replied, unsettled by the man occupying the bench with him.

"For some. I find it makes a wonderful smokescreen for my area of expertise. It opens so many opportunities. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Jones?"

"Who are you?" The question felt familiar but awkward with who it was addressed to. So much was out of place but it felt impossible to discover the correct circumstances.

"Oh, just an acquaintance of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Jim Moriarty. You seem to be even more interesting than him however which is fortunate or else I would just have you killed on the spot."

"How comforting. What's your point?"

"My point is that I'm going to find out every little secret kept in that head of yours."

"Good luck. I don't even know them."

"I'm sure I can find ways of persuading you." Moriarty stated as a red dot rested at the American's temple.

\--------------------------------------------------------

Images flashed, accompanied with pangs of emotion. It felt like he had gotten his head crushed "Wrath of Khan" style but he doubted that was what had happened. What did happen though? It was like his memories had been pulled out like string and shoved back into his head. It wouldn't take long to discern everything since he was a nation and healed quickly but the time it took to deal with sorting everything was always a problem.

He knew he was in London for the meeting. He had arrived and started walking to the hotel since there hadn't seemed to be a taxi in existence but then it had started raining and why did it taste like there was blood in his mouth? He didn't remember anything happening that would cause such a taste but it was unmistakable. The throbbing in his head wouldn't die down either. Had he been shot?

"Arthur...?" he groaned and tried to blink but it seemed there was no remedy to the darkness.

"So you are alive again. Just what I was hoping." A familiar voice called out, it's fluctuating tones sounding a bit strange. "You still have so much to tell me after all."

"Not a chance that I'm telling you anything. Where am I?"

"You are going to tell me or I can make your existence a very painful one." 

"I'm not telling you shit. You're not going to intimidate me."

"Not a smart decision Mr. Jones." With the words came a burning pain in his right knee as he clenched his jaw to hold back a scream. "Now, who or what are you?"

"Alfred F. Jones. American ambassador in training."

"I don't believe you for multiple reasons Jones. You can either make this easy or difficult but it won't end well for you."

"You're the one who kidnapped a United States official and you're threatening me?" Alfred had met plenty of people like this man in the past who tried to make all others bend to their whim but he wasn't going to do anything of the sort.

"I don't just make threats, I carry them out." More burning pain but this time in his left knee. Torture wasn't really anything new after the few centuries he had been alive and nothing could compare to the pain he had felt during the Civil War.

"And I don't negotiate with terrorists." He bit out through clenched teeth. Although he was restrained it was likely that he could break whatever was restraining him with ease and leave but there was also the chance that he couldn't.

"Oh honey, I'm not just a terrorist. I'm so much more than that in this big bad world. You must be smarter than that unless the only thing interesting about you is when you take a bullet to the head. I'm just sooo tired of all these boring people walking around. Doesn't it get exhausting?"

"Maybe for you. Why don't you let me see your face?"

"Oh? So you don't remember? Now that's interesting. One shot made you forget and now the second has allowed you to remember." He trailed off as the blindfold was removed and the dimly lit blur of the room was revealed. "I do hope you don't bore me Jones."

"I'm certainly not going to tell you anything. You're welcome to try though."

"You know, you are quite pretty for a man Jones. I wonder how pretty you will look if I let my friends cut up that face of yours." The dark figure before him paused as he toyed with something in his hands, possibly Texas. "Maybe the same if your ability to heal goes beyond dying. I guess we will have to find that out for ourselves."

Alfred could feel the needle push into his arm before the liquid contents were dumped into his bloodstream, causing a wave of disorientation as he was taken from the chair and dragged down dark halls. It didn't take long before the superpower succumbed to unconsciousness and slipped away from the grey walls and concrete floors.


End file.
